From Darkness into the Light
by Aduien
Summary: At Raoul's request, Erik takes a journey to save Christine's life. During its course, he finds his own salvation. E/OW Huge thanks to Blondie for coming up with my title!
1. Prologue

Author's Note: This story is based on the 2004 film of Andrew Lloyd Webber's play _The Phantom of the Opera_, with slight adjustments to the dates to accommodate the siege of Paris from September 1870 to April 1871. I do not own any character that appears in the movie, or the book by Gaston Leroux, only those I have created for this work. Erik/OW

Copyright J. Niles, 2008

* * *

**Paris, December 1870**

Raoul de Chagny cautiously advanced the last few feet toward the archway leading to the Phantom's lair, pistol in hand. He moved slowly through the waist-high water of the immense lake far beneath the foundations of the ruined Opera Populaire. Although the shadows of the great cavern protected him from sight, he remembered the creature's acute sense of hearing and tried to move silently.

He paused to examine the object of his hunt. A single candelabrum on a small round table picked out some of the elaborate carving on the organ beyond, but most of it pooled around the figure hunched in a chair by the table. The profile showed black against the soft golden light. Raoul shuddered. That perfect line of forehead, straight nose, mouth and strong jaw divided the face of a monster: the left side fair as an angel's, smooth and handsome; the right a disfigured horror with reddened and pinched flesh surrounding the eye and ruined ear, even going into the hairline.

The vicomte did not underestimate the creature's hearing. Even as he stealthily slid another foot closer, the dark head turned and the figure unfolded itself to approach the water's edge. Raoul froze until he heard the voice his wife described as dangerously hypnotic.

"What do you want, de Chagny?" The question held nothing but bitterness. "Are you here to gloat? Please, do so properly." Raoul gasped in spite of his determination to remain unintimidated. Although he had not detected any movement from his prey, several ornate candelabra emerged from the water around him, burning brightly. After hours wandering through pitch black tunnels with only a single torch, he winced and shaded his eyes. "Or have you come to put your ghost to rest?" He indicated the pistol in Raoul's right hand with a mocking gesture.

The young man found his voice. "I am not here to gloat, and this – " indicating the weapon he held pointed up to the ceiling " – is to preserve my own life should it be necessary. I assure you that your death is the last thing I want just now."

"Oh?" The single drawn-out syllable expressed a world of disbelief on the Phantom's part.

Raoul ignored it. "I am sorry to have disturbed you -- Monsieur. May I approach?"

"And if I say 'no'?" His opponent snarled the question, his light eyes blazing with contempt.

"Then I will stay where I am and speak to you," the vicomte replied calmly. "I would not have risked my life with your little traps except for an extremely important reason." He licked his suddenly dry lips. "Christine needs your help."

A harsh bark of laughter echoed in waves from the high ceiling as the Phantom turned away from his unwelcome guest. "Indeed? Please be so good as to give my regards to Mademoiselle Daae – forgive me, I should say 'Madame La Vicomtesse' – and inform her that her Angel of Music has done everything he can for her. She is on her own."

"Then she may die," Raoul said simply. He watched the creature slowly turn back to him. A muscle twitched in the ravaged right cheek. "May I explain? Christine is not in danger at present, but if you will not help her, she will be."

"And why can't her noble husband protect her?" The words hissed like a whip across the dark waters of the lake. "Why the hell don't you take care of her, you stupid boy?"

Raoul kept his gaze on his prey and prepared to use his pistol if need be. He could have been standing in his own drawing room as he replied, "I am protecting her by coming to you. I cannot help her because I don't know these tunnels and you do."

Silence stretched between the two until the lair's occupant abruptly shattered it. "Come out. Explain." He stepped away from the edge of the stone platform that made up his living space.

Still gripping the pistol, wary of any tricks, the vicomte cautiously made his way to the stone steps across the shallow lake. As he climbed them, he studied the wretch who had nearly murdered him only months earlier.

He was startled to see that the once powerful Phantom of the Opera looked like a beggar. No longer immaculately attired, the creature before him stood tiredly, a wrinkled white shirt and dingy trousers hanging off his gaunt frame. The wretched face had thinned as well. An unexpected pang of sympathy struck Raoul as he noted the lines of suffering around the former 'ghost's' mouth.

He realized his pity must have shown on his face, for his rival sneered, "Forgive my appearance, dear Vicomte. I seldom bother to dress up anymore, as I receive so few visitors."

Raoul replied with equal contempt." Is that because you destroyed their home or because of your homicidal tendencies, I wonder?"

The other man's eyes slitted dangerously. "Do not try my patience further, _boy_. It would not disturb me in the least to see Christine a widow. And your own appearance leaves much to be desired." That was true enough. Raoul's once-starched shirt clung to his frame while dirty rivulets of water ran off his body onto the smooth stone floor.

"Enough." The young nobleman did not try to hide his scorn. "I have more pressing matters than exchanging insults with you." He looked the other man over carefully, hoping he was rational and sober.

"Then state your piece and get out." As if guessing his concerns, the creature defiantly poured three fingers of brandy into a glass and tossed it off.

Raoul rolled his eyes. "You may possibly be aware that the Prussian army has surrounded Paris for the last three months."

"Since September, yes." The Phantom shrugged. "Is this supposed to be significant to me?"

"I have no idea," the vicomte snapped. "My first concern is my wife. Food is already scarce in the city and the situation will only worsen as winter continues. I also have reason to believe that while the Prussians have not used artillery and canon on the city so far, they will do so before much longer."

"And just how do you come to know so much, _boy_," the older man sneered again.

Now Raoul's face tightened bitterly. "He cannot disinherit me from the succession, but my father cut off my income for marrying 'a common opera whore', as he described Christine. To support us, I obtained a minor government position. Although I refuse to associate with anyone who insults my wife, I have a few true friends remaining. One of them is a reliable source of military information.

"The only property I actually own is a house and a small piece of land in the Massif Central inherited from my grandfather a few years ago." He forced himself to look the Phantom in the eye without showing his revulsion. "I beg you to take her through the tunnels to the outskirts of the city, along with a few others in our household, and from there south. I must remain at my post in the city, but Christine does not."

The Phantom snorted. "Touching, little vicomte, but for one thing, I am not sure myself if the tunnels under Paris reach the edge of the city. For another --." He approached, daring Raoul to retreat. The nobleman stood his ground. "I don't think your staff will follow me, even if Christine would."

"Yes, they will, for one of them knows you. Meg Giry accepted a position at La Scala, but they did not require her mother's services. Catherine Giry has been living with us." Raoul watched an expression of relief cross his adversary's face. Perhaps the man felt some guilt for the destruction and death he had caused, after all.

He took a breath and imperceptibly tightened his finger on the trigger of his pistol. "If you will swear not to hurt her, Christine promises me that she will go with you. She seems to be under the impression that you will not go back on your word."

The Phantom looked at him coldly. "She knows perfectly well that I would never harm her. You wish me to promise _you_ not to hurt her." The accurate assessment startled Raoul. Before he could speak, the other man paced to the edge of the lake and stood looking across it, motionless. The young man could hear only dripping water and the sound of his own breathing.

"In the end, I never could refuse her anything." The soft words reached his ears just before the gaunt figure turned from the lake. Tiredly, he said, "If I knew I could get her safely away, then yes, I would take her through the tunnels."

"Thank you." The vicomte did not care that all his profound relief showed in the two words. "Regarding the tunnels, you are not the first person to venture into them. In the Prefecture of the Seine there were a few maps showing their placement under the city."

"Were." The Phantom crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. "It would help greatly if their current location is known, boy."

"They are hidden in the old chapel backstage. I stole them." Raoul watched the other man's expression change to one of reluctant admiration. Triumph lanced through him, why, he did not know. Certainly no de Chagny needed the approval this monster.

His voice became more business-like. "I can show you if you wish to accompany me back up."

He caught an expression of longing on the Phantom's face, as if the fellow would have liked company, even his. "Very well." Those light eyes flickered over his wet clothes. "I suggest we take the boat."


	2. Chapter 1: Reunions and Farewells

**Chapter 1**

**Three Weeks Later**

Erik waited in the shadows of one of the great windows gracing the Opera Populaire. Glass shards from its shattered panes lay hidden under a dusting of snow. The flurries had fallen a few days earlier, an unwelcome Christmas gift to the miserable citizens of Paris. He checked a pocket watch, one of his few possessions that had escaped the notice of the crowd howling for his blood during the fire that he had started.

None of the gas lamps worked now, so he heard the horses before he saw them. He touched his black wig and the new mask fashioned from a piece of black leather found in the ruined stables. He could care less what de Chagny thought of him, but he did not want to upset Christine again. Or Catherine and the nameless cousin of the boy's. Nervously, he straightened his neck cloth and tugged at his shirtsleeves. He had dressed as well as he could in the remnants of his once elegant wardrobe, but all that remained were a couple pairs of trousers, a black cape and a few whole, but somewhat stained shirts. None of his tailored vests and frock coats had survived the search of his lair.

Erik melted back farther into the shadowed recess of the broken window, partly to watch the others approach and partly to gather his courage. Catherine and Christine had been the only two people he had ever sought out in his life. The rest of humanity either rejected him or tried to imprison him when they happened to stumble across him. He wondered which path the de Chagny girl would take and, for the thousandth time, if this was all an elaborate trap laid by the vicomte.

The boy had certainly acted relieved when he'd agreed to help Christine, and even offered to bring some food, until Erik pointed out that he had a ready supply of meat from pigeons trapped inside the burnt building. They had agreed that Raoul would check the old chapel once a week until he found a note behind the altar telling him when Erik found an escape route.

It had taken three weeks of steady searching before Erik found a path through the tunnels to a deserted area just outside the city walls. By now, the New Year loomed and the Prussian noose around the City of Light threatened to extinguish it altogether.

The horses halted in the street. Two figures dismounted from the first, indistinguishable in their long, heavy cloaks. One immediately approached the building, obviously searching for him. His heart leaped with the wild hope it might be Christine.

"Erik?" The word extinguished his thought as soon as it had formed. The voice did not belong to his Angel of Music. And he had never told Christine his name.

"Catherine." He stepped forward, hesitantly extending his hand. She stopped a few feet away from him, as if reluctant to come too near. Certainly he deserved no kindness from her after rewarding years of devoted care by destroying her home. He dropped his hand, trying to swallow the devastation he felt at her rejection.

She pushed the hood of her cloak back, looking him in the face. No anger colored her voice, only sadness and hurt. "I hardly believed Raoul when he told us he'd found you. Meg and I came back, searching -- we could not find you, I feared you dead. Where did you go?"

"I heard you, but I could not bring myself to speak." He could barely force the confession past his lips. "I was -- I am -- so ashamed that I destroyed your lives in my madness." He continued in a low voice. "I left a purse with several thousand francs in your cab one day to try and compensate for my actions. Did you find it?"

"I hoped that was you. We were so desperate I kept the money. It paid for us to travel to Italy so I could look for work" She smiled wryly. "I had no luck, but Meg was accepted into the ballet company at La Scala." Erik smiled involuntarily at the obvious pride in her daughter's accomplishment. "Despite the war, I could not bear to live anywhere but Paris. I returned just before the siege began."

He nodded, unsurprised that her fierce devotion extended to places as well as people. His gaze drifted past Catherine to the small figure removing packs from the back of the second horse. The cousin, he guessed.

"Erik?" The softly spoken word brought his attention back to the one person closest to being his friend. She looked at him as if searching for something in his expression. "I'm glad to see you again."

"Thank you, Catherine." A smile broke across his face at the hope that she might have forgiven him after all. "I swear I will get you back to Meg."

"Get me out of Paris and I can make my own way to Italy." The steely ballet mistress had returned. "Swear you will keep Christine safe,_ mon vieux_. That's all I ask right now."

He stiffened. "That goes without saying, madame." Why would no one understand that he would never knowingly harm his Angel?

"That includes keeping her safe from you." Her sternness disappeared as she pleaded with him. "They love each other, Erik. She is happy with him. He's good to her --"

"Enough!" He whispered so as not to draw the attention of the others. "I understand perfectly well. She loves him, he loves her. Neither of them would ever have wanted to set eyes on me again except that I am the key to her escape from Paris." He ground to a halt, not wanting to expose any more of his bitterness. After a shaky breath, he changed the subject.

"Tell me about the boy's cousin. The tunnels are reasonably safe, but we can't afford to be held up by a pampered aristocrat." To his surprise, Catherine let out an angry breath before she answered.

"I was stunned when Raoul suggested she accompany us." She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. "I tried to convince him that she is unfit company for Christine, but he refused to listen." She approached him and whispered, "His cousin is the Baronesse de Courcy."

Erik looked at her in disbelief for a long moment. When the Baronesse's reputation as an unrepentant adulteress made her a pariah in polite society, she had metaphorically shrugged her scented shoulders and shamelessly embraced the demi-monde of prostitutes, rakes and artists.

He had often seen her from his place in Box Five, a petite woman invariably sporting a stunning display of jewelry and wearing a dress cut to display her equally stunning bosom. At first her husband, a suave man several years her senior, escorted her. Later, after he threw her out of his family mansion, she brazenly kept the box in her own name. He had watched the golden blonde beauty flirt -- and more -- with a series of men each season for at least five years. By now, he guessed, she had to be around thirty.

De Chagny considered this high-born whore suitable company for his wife? After assisting Catherine through the window, he stared at the shadowy form with narrowed eyes. The hood of her cloak had fallen back, and moonlight gleamed off the fair hair. She adjusted one pack over her shoulder and picked up a second one. The ease with which she handled them suggested that they must be feather-light. As if his contemptuous gaze touched her shoulder, she turned her head to face him. Her eyes widened and he stretched his lips into his most feral smile. Let the lazy little creature fear him.

Instead, she held his gaze steadily before arching one eyebrow sardonically and led her horse to the boy and Christine. His furious gaze followed her. How dare that brazen slut ignore him? She would, he resolved, pay for her arrogance.

The baronesse shook off the _frisson_ of danger that shivered up her spine under the stranger's stare. Although Christine spoke of this 'Angel' with sadness and affection, Raoul had taken her aside to warn her of his cruel nature. He had begged her to carry a loaded pistol in her pack, but she had refused, preferring instead her favorite knife.

She stopped a few feet from where Raoul and Christine desperately embraced. Her heart ached for them both. That they must part once more after finding each other again was too bitter to dwell on. But it was imperative that the young vicomtesse escape Paris before the siege broke.

"My dears, you must let each other go now." Her words carried no farther than their ears. "Someone will attack Raoul just to get some horsemeat, and this guide said we should start our journey tonight, did he not?"

They reluctantly broke apart at the sound of her voice, their hands framing each others' faces. With a lump in her throat, the baronesse realized they wiped the tears from the other one's cheeks.

Finally, Christine tore herself from her husband's arms. Stifling a sob, the younger woman made her way carefully over the uneven surface to the window. Raoul swallowed painfully.

"Take this." She felt a lumpy leather belt pushed surreptitiously into her fingers. From its weight, she gathered it held coins. "Watch over her for me, Kaira."

"I will, little cousin." A smile twitched at her use of her old nickname for the young man towering above her. "Now go. Christine and your child will be safe." His face stiffened as he fought more tears, but he mounted his horse in one liquid motion and took the reins of the other animal's.

"Adieu." 'Go with God.'

"Au revoir," she corrected him. 'Until we meet again.' She followed the other women to the window, only to trip over a loose cobblestone. Immediately a black-gloved hand closed around her elbow in a grip of iron.

"Silence." She did not need the warning, for Kaira caught her breath at the man looming above her. Taller than Raoul, his dark hair gleamed in the moonlight, which accentuated his high cheekbones and the cleft in his firm chin. She had expected him to be masked, but not that she would be transfixed by the glittering eyes framed by black leather. They stared at close range for a frozen heartbeat, then she ripped her gaze away, only to focus on his mouth.

His luscious, kissable mouth, with a full under lip that begged to be nibbled on and sucked. Unconsciously, she licked her own lips. 'You gave this up for my little cousin, Christine?'

For a moment, she feared she voiced the thought aloud, but sighed in relief when she realized she had not. He regarded her with those wide eyes, before letting go of her and ostentatiously wiping his hand on his pants. Her head snapped up. Common as insults were to her, they still stung. She retained her pride, however, and when she spoke, her voice held only bored amusement.

"I see Madame Giry has already informed you of my identity, _Monsieur-le-Fantome_." She crooked her elbow for him to take. "Shall we proceed?" He merely swirled his dark cape and stalked away from her. Laughing softly, she followed him, hiding her hurt.


	3. Chapter 2: Into Darkness

Inside the building, their guide picked up a small lantern and hastened to Christine's side. Kaira followed as best she could, scurrying to catch up to the others. Although immune to morbid fancies most of the time, keeping up with this 'Phantom' through a pitch black ruin unnerved her slightly. The trio ahead of her, familiar with the basic layout, managed to avoid most of the debris still jumbled on the floor. Despite stumbling several times, she refused to ask for help. She would break her neck before calling on the narrow-minded Madame Giry and her friend for assistance. Christine, she expected, felt too distraught over parting from Raoul to notice anything or anyone else.

Ahead, the young vicomtesse skirted a piece of fallen plaster. The tall man walked at her side, speaking softly. Kaira frowned. Raoul had confided the story of his wife and her Angel of Music, along with his fear of losing her to her former teacher. The tenderness in the Phantom's voice indicated that he still felt deeply for Christine. She would wager the diamond-studded hairpins she had once owned that Christine would not leave her husband...but even at a distance, the stranger's voice seduced.

Dear God, what had her little cousin gotten her into? She would spend the next days trapped underground with her cousin by marriage, an obsessed murderer and the ever-disapproving Madame Giry. She began to wish Raoul had let her take her chances and slip out through the Prussian lines. Facing a hostile army sounded more and more attractive. For reassurance, she touched the pack containing her supplies, including her knife.

They stepped out onto the _Opera Populaire's _stage. The lantern's beams bobbed as their guide strode ahead, glancing off the charred remains of the _Don Juan Triumphant _set to their left. Kaira turned her head as a glitter to the right caught her eye. The massive chandelier lay where it had fallen the night of the fire. Its twisted metal arms looked like a many-headed hydra crawling out of the orchestra pit. Remembering her father's tales of the Greek monster, a chill snaked down her spine.

The immense auditorium seemed to mock them, magnifying the small noise of their footsteps until it seemed they would be heard in the street outside. To Kaira's relief, the trio ahead of her passed into the wings opposite. She hurried after them. Fortunately Christine noticed she lagged behind and waited for her.

"We're going to costume storage first. Stay close." Christine easily threaded her way through a maze of hallways and rooms that made Kaira's head swim. That she did so in near complete darkness impressed the baronesse further. Several twists and turns later, they descended a creaky set of stairs. The odor of charred wood decreased markedly as they reached the bottom, giving way instead to mere mustiness. Light from an open doorway showed very little damage from the fire down here.

They entered the room and Kaira stopped short. She had never seen anyplace like this. Rack upon rack of costumes filled the room. Some even hung from the ceiling. Clothing of every era filled them: Roman togas, flowing gowns of the middle ages, ghostly white gauze creations, colorful tunics. Along the wall, shelves held wigs, hats and headdresses, swords, gloves, belts, and shoes. She gazed around, fascinated, as the man spoke.

"Your gowns will only encumber you in the tunnels. Christine, your shirt and trousers from _Il Muto_ are still here. Catherine, you should be able to find something in the young men's' trousers." His glance ran over Kaira distastefully. "I fear the Baronesse will have to make do with whatever she can find."

Christine chuckled as she made her way to the rack indicated. "You'll find she came better prepared than we did, Angel."

Indeed, monsieur, I chose my ensemble with great care." Unable to repress her smug smile, Kaira hoisted her packs onto a work table and unfastened her long black cloak for the first time. Unfurling it over her shoulders, she raised an eyebrow at the dumbfounded expression on his face.

The last time he had observed the Baronesse from his box, she had worn an exquisite gown of carnation pink satin. Brilliants had sprinkled the lace frothing about her bare shoulders. A camellia had nestled in her hair and a delicate diamond necklace and earrings framed her face.

Tonight she wore a simple cotton blouse tucked into a pair of brown serge trousers. High boots of supple leather hugged her legs, which he noticed were long for her petite frame. Somehow, the mannish outfit only accented her femininity. At the mocking glint in her grey eyes, he stiffened. She looked at him as if she could see beneath the mask protecting him from the world.

"I had no idea such a frivolous woman could bring herself to wear something so practical," he sneered.

"How nice for you to discover you're not omnipotent," she retorted. She turned her attention to one of the packs opening it and rearranging the contents. Her blatant attempt to ignore him amused Erik. He stayed nearby just to irritate her further.

Catherine and Christine changed behind a rack stuffed with eighteenth century dresses. The shadows preserved their modesty, but their voices carried clearly in the quiet room.

"Madame, can you help me? My waist seems to be bigger than it was in the spring." Christine managed a small laugh as she spoke, as did Catherine in her reply.

"Well,_ ma fille_, you had better get used to that. It's not going to get any smaller for another six months at least." For several moments, the words meant nothing to Erik. Then a wave of bile rushed into his throat as he realized their significance.

Christine -- his rose, his angel -- Christine carried the boy's child.

He had taken a place not far from Kaira, crossing his arms and scowling. Doubtless he wished to intimidate her. A bitter smile lifted one corner of her mouth. She had her fears of course, but after years of living with her former husband, having a man merely stare at her was not one of them. And judging from the brief flash of lust she had observed on his face, this Phantom was like every other men she had met in her adult life, interested only in what pleasure he could take from her body.

Other than flicking a glance over his brooding form, she ignored him until she heard the conversation between Christine and La Giry. Raoul's wife had become very dear to her over the last months, and she would allow no one to harm her. He did not appear to notice her as his cheeks paled below his leather mask and he put out a hand as if to seek support. Understanding flooded over her. Damn her cousin!

"He didn't tell you." Despite herself, a pang a sympathy pulsed through the baronesse when he focused his attention on her. She never seen such anguish in a man's eyes. She wondered what actions such pain would drive him to. "He should not have kept this from you."

"I hardly need _your_ pity." His face twisted in contempt. Kaira faced him nevertheless, ignoring the hidden reference to her tarnished reputation.

"A man who burns down an entire building out of spite hardly deserves anyone's pity." She did not back down even when he came within inches of her. "One who has just heard the woman he loves is expecting another man's child might appreciate some sympathy." As his hands flew up, stopping just short of her throat, she shrugged. "Or perhaps not."

His hands dropped to his sides, his chest rising and falling inches away from hers. She tipped her chin back to see the masked face above her as they exchanged glares.

"Whatever is going on?" Christine asked the question lightly enough, but her voice sounded strained as she emerged from behind the rack. She wore her pageboy's outfit with élan. Behind her, even Madame Giry looked rather dashing in black trousers and a vest over her own long-sleeved shirt.

Breaking the impasse, Erik turned to his former pupil. After taking a shaky breath, he collected himself and made a small bow. "I understand congratulations are in order, Madame," he said formally.

The young vicomtesse drew back at the obvious pain in his voice. Glancing at Kaira, she raised her brows questioningly.

"Raoul didn't tell him." At Kaira's flat declaration, Christine reached a tentative hand out to the tense man in front of her.

"Angel, I am so sorry. I cannot believe he neglected to tell you." He jerked a nod.

"I suspect he thought I would refuse to help you if I knew." Christine drew back, wide-eyed, but he continued smoothly. "It's time to go down to the tunnels." He picked up the lantern.

"We need to repack first." Under Erik's scowl, Kaira efficiently rolled up Christine's dress. Madame Giry, after watching her for a moment, did the same. With some difficulty, the garments were stowed in the packs.

"If one of you would be good enough to take this?" Kaira held the smaller pack toward the other two women. "As monsieur is our guide, I think it best to keep him unburdened."

Madame Giry uttered a disgusted exclamation under breath, but took the proffered knapsack. She nearly dropped it, looking at the petite baronesse in surprise. "What in heaven's name is in here? The crown jewels?"

"Cakes of portable soup and a few tins of food, waterproof containers of matches, a few eating utensils, and rope." She enjoyed the reluctant respect dawning in the older woman's face.

"Do we have your permission to proceed, Baronesse?" The silky tone did nothing to disguise the sarcasm in his voice as Erik bowed to her.

"I think we're ready, thank you." With a bland smile that did not quite reach her eyes, Kaira indicated the door. Her lips twitched as their irritated guide all but ground his teeth and turned on his heel.

Her self-confidence vanished rapidly. If the opera house had proved a confusing maze, their route now bewildered Kaira completely. The Phantom led them through secret doors and corridors to an immense stairway winding ever downward. The tramp of their footsteps echoed out into the black nothingness over the edge. She shivered and hugged the wall as she brought up the rear.

At one point he lifted the lantern high, illuminating an oil-soaked torch in a bracket on the wall. He used the guttering candle to set it afire. They stopped periodically while he pushed mysterious levers into place or guided them around trapdoors in the floor. She remembered Raoul's warnings of his bloodthirstiness and swallowed.

During these breaks, she calmed herself somewhat by studying their surroundings. The building's modern foundations gave way to older stonework as they descended. They passed rounded Romanesque arches and rough work that looked as if it dated from the Dark Ages. A series of carved lion's heads went by. Kaira noticed that Madame Giry gawked as much as she did, while Christine huddled farther and farther into her cloak.

Kaira gathered her own wrap close. By now both cold air and damp filled the passages, along with the stink of mold and mildew. They walked down a series of long shallow steps and turned. And stopped.

Ahead of her, the Phantom's torchlight danced on the surface of a lake that stretched out into the distance. At his feet a small black boat rested near some steps.

"You've changed it." Soft as she spoke the words, Christine's voice startled Kaira, she had remained silent so long.

"I had to take off the wood at the bow and stern to make room for four." After placing the torch into an empty bracket, he frowned and surveyed the three women. "I think we can all fit inside, but your extra weight will slow it down." He picked up a long pole.

Kaira nodded at it. "If you have a second pole, I can help." He regarded her skeptically. She smiled back mischieviously. "I learned at Cambridge when I was a girl."

"An excellent institution, madame, but not one that accepts females." However, he did pick up a second pole from the floor behind him and handed it to her.

"Sadly, you are correct. My father regularly visited an antiquitarian friend who was a fellow there." Gingerly placing her pack in the middle of the craft, she took it and made her way to the front.

The black cloaked man handed Madame Giry and Christine into the boat. Taking his place in the stern, he pushed off. They set off across the water.


	4. Chapter 3: Illusions and Memories

"There are no torches." Christine's soft voice floated over the water.

"Once others discovered my quarters, it wasn't safe to keep them lit."

As they spoke, Kaira supposed the boat moved forward. The darkness surrounding them revealed almost nothing, leaving the impression of sitting fixed in place while shadows slipped by on either side. The pool of light radiating from the double-armed lantern bolted to the prow at her feet bobbed on the greenish water, but no other sense of motion occurred.

She wondered if the Phantom could see in the dark. Certainly the terse directions he occasionally emitted showed no hesitation. She herself could not see more than a few feet in front of them.

"Right." Even in that normal tone of voice, the word echoed slightly off the tunnel walls.

Her pole splashed quietly to the left as she tuned the vessel toward a faint glow ahead. Trickling and dripping moisture in the background filled the silence.

Clammy air chilled her face. To her profound relief, the change of direction brought a decrease of the fetid odor rising from the dank underground canal. The stench had seemed to enter her mouth earlier, making her want to gag. She shuddered. Christine said that her 'Angel' had lived for years in this tomb-like place. No wonder the man's mind had twisted.

The glow in front of them turned into bright light spilling out across the water. Kaira looked about her. They now floated on a vast lake. The passed a promontory of rock and she discovered the source of the illumination.

Half a dozen gilded candelabra standing in the water bathed them in gaslight and fell upon a living area vibrant with crimson, gold, silver, blue and black. The boat stopped completely as she gawked at the sight of tables, chairs, and a swan bed, all dwarfed by the pipes and keyboard of an elaborately carved organ.

"So that's where you composed and created all those designs." Madame Giry murmured the words from her place behind Kaira. "Meg told me it was amazing, _mon vieux_. She did not do you justice."

She privately agreed with the older woman, although on closer observation, the room reminded her of something a magpie might put together. Nothing quite matched, as if gathered piecemeal to suit a passing fancy, or perhaps because they had been left unguarded.

A small smile lifted one side of her mouth. It the magpie had wanted to defy his dark, lifeless surroundings, he had succeeded. Besides, bright colors had always attracted her, too.

"Who built the organ?" She could not take her eyes off the beautiful instrument, wondering how it had come to be in this place.

"I had a previous owner of the Populaire order it bit by bit from Germany, but I brought it down and assembled it."

Dumbfounded, her eyes turned to the Phantom. He gazed straight ahead, into the cavern, revealing the profile of a Greek god. A liquid glitter in his eye drew her attention.

He tightened his jaw before the tears overflowed. She quickly averted her head as he turned toward her. When he spoke, his voice grated unnaturally.

"It's time to move on. Straight ahead."

Christine finally spoke. She huddled with her head down on her knees, as if unable to bear the sight of the cavern. "I'm sorry you must leave your home on our account."

A note of tenderness entered his voice. "There is no longer anything here to keep me, Angel."

After a pause, he went on briskly. "Besides, you and Catherine have lost your homes as well, so I have no right to feel sorry for myself." He shot Kaira a look. "The Comtesse of course, left hers of her own accord years ago."

Madame Giry sniffed in disdainful agreement. Kaira ignored them both. She stared into the darkness as visions of her home arose in her mind: a gray stone mansion in the English countryside, filled with laughter, books and her father's love. She had lost it all over half a lifetime ago, but her grief remained sharp.

Their guide directed them to the opposite shore of the lake, where a few small bundles waited. He handed each of them small faggots of wood, explaining that they could make fires in places. He also had candles, two lanterns, and a bedroll for himself.

They started walking. Kaira lost track of time as they marched into the heart of the old tunnels, although to her surprise, they often passed through, and by, caverns of varying sizes. To her amazement, they passed several ossuaries, with countless bones arranged neatly around the walls. Christine and Giry shuddered, but she would have lingered to examine them if possible.

"Several cemeteries were emptied in the eighteenth century." Their guide answered her unspoken curiosity. "The workmen did this." He jerked his head. "We need to press on."

Taking a last glance at the bizarre sight of human bones laid in patterns as neatly as bricks, she hurried after the others.

----

Christine stumbled. Kaira and Madame Giry both stepped forward to catch her. Kaira took one look at her white face and eased her to a sitting position. She shrugged off her pack and fumbled to open it while Giry grabbed their guide's cloak.

"Erik, Christine is exhausted. We must stop for the night." The woman's voice brooked no argument. "It must be the small hours of the morning by now; we all need sleep."

Kaira raised her eyebrows when the man turned back at once. She could not tell for a certainty with the shadows cast by the lantern light, but she swore she detected a flush on the cheeks below his half-mask.

"If I am correct, there is a small cavern within the next hundred feet where we can spend the night." He extended a hand to Christine. "It's not far, my dear."

The other two women sighed in relief, but Kaira frowned. "Surely we aren't the only people in Paris who have thought to take shelter down here. Will it be unoccupied?"

"It will be when I'm through. Cutthroats and thieves have used the catacombs for centuries. I did not come unprepared." Their guide's cool reply unsettled her, and before catching up to the lantern light, she stopped to pull her knife from her pack. The Phantom's eyes widened at the glinting steel, but he said nothing.

They clustered around a small arched carved in the wall. He twitched a hand, and she recognized the weapon he carried. "A Punjab lasso? Where did you learn to use that?"

"At least I know how to use it, which is more than I can say for your blade."

His taunt snapped her patience. "I learned from one of the best swordsmen in Europe."

"One of your lovers, no doubt." His mouth twisted as his glance raked her from head to toe. Heat flooded her cheeks at his obvious contempt. Kaira adopted the air of cool sophistication that had protected her over the years. "One of my favorites, in fact." She regarded him with her head cocked to one side. "What an accomplished sneer you have, monsieur. Did it take you _many _hours in front of a mirror to perfect it?" He drew back with a gasp. She repressed a triumphant crow at having scored a hit.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Should Catherine and I take the lantern and explore the place while you two argue?" Christine's uncharacteristic asperity shamed both Kaira and her tormentor into slipping through the opening without further comment.

The cavern suited their needs perfectly. Roomy enough for all of them, it possessed a ceiling high enough to allow a flames without fear of asphyxiation.

She laid a tiny fire near one wall, more for mental ease than warmth. Christine and Catherine unrolled their blankets to settle down for the night, while their guide settled outside the firelight at the cavern's entrance. "I shall look around for fresh water and to make sure we're alone." Gathering his cape around him, he vanished through the rough opening as silently as smoke.

The three women made themselves as comfortable as they could on the rock floor. Kaira sat facing the door. She did not fear he would betray them, but she intended to keep watch until the Phantom, or Angel, or whatever he was, returned. Beside her, Christine lay on her back. Madame Giry stretched out on her foster daughter's other side.

A muffled sob broke the stillness. Looking down, Kaira saw the tears filling the vicomtesse's brown eyes. Giry raised herself on one elbow.

"I'm so sorry." Christine tried to control herself with a gulp. "But I don't think I can survive if I lose Raoul again." She pressed a fist against her mouth to hold back another sob.

"_Ma mie_, he is young and strong, and resourceful." Giry wiped away her tears. "But you must not speak so. There is the child to consider."

"I don't think I have your strength, _Maman_." Christine turned to the older woman, burying her face in her shoulder.

For the first time since Kaira had met her, the ballet mistress looked tired and weak as she embraced her charge. "I didn't think I did either. Losing Pierre devastated me. But Meg gave me a reason to live."

"Madame Giry is right, my love." Kaira patted her cousin's shoulder. "Raoul will do everything in his power to come to you again. And once he knows you're safe, he can concentrate on his own survival without fearing for you. So you must focus on yourself and your child."

"How is it I raised you from girlhood and never knew of this attachment?" Giry smiled ruefully.

Christine shrugged. "At first, grief for my father pushed thoughts of anyone else aside. Later, what would have been the point? I had loved Raoul dearly, but I never expected to see him again. And he was a nobleman, while I was a mere dancer -- you both know how his family reacted to our marriage."

"He never forgot you either." Kaira stroked the glossy curls flowing down her back. "They were inseparable from the moment they met, Madame."

As she spoke, a faint scrape of leather on stone came from the cavern's doorway. At the very edge of the firelight, a black cape swirled back into the tunnel beyond.

Madame Giry cuddled Christine, consoling her as best she could. With a last soothing murmur for the miserable woman, Kaira stood. Making her way to the arch, she stepped out of the cavern. Only a faint glow came from their shelter, and it took several moments for her eyes to adjust.

Peering in the direction of a man's harsh breathing, she eventually located a darker blob in the blackness. He sat motionless on a fallen rock. She approached quietly, but not so quietly she would startle him.

After a glance over his shoulder, he buried his head in his hands. As she had with Christine, she placed a hand on a hunched shoulder and squeezed in sympathy.

He took a shuddering breath. "I never had a chance after de Chagny came back into her life."

"Truly, I do not think you did, Monsieur." The rigid muscles under her hand tensed further at her low voice. "I am so very sorry."

"Are you?" The low-voiced words ripped from his throat. "The boy is your cousin, you want his wife to be faithful to him."

"Yes, but I have become very fond of Christine, and she often speaks of you with affection. She points out that her life at the _Populaire_ would have been immeasurably lonelier without your presence."

"Affection?" The wistful word revealed an unexpected chink in his smooth armor. He covered it immediately. "I wonder why you try to console a man who despises you, Baroness."

Her had dropped from his shoulder. "Why indeed?" "When I was seventeen, I fell in love with a friend's brother. My mother did not approve of the match, but Michel promised to wait for me until I was of age." A dry note entered her voice. "Months later, my friend informed me that he had gotten another girl pregnant and had to marry her instead."

"Broken hearts are survivable, monsieur, but they are immensely painful."

The dark form gave no sign that he heard her words.

She unfastened her sable-lined cloak. "Wrap yourself up in this. There's a cold draft by that arch." Brusquely draping it around him, she turned on her heel and stalked away.


End file.
